So I feel like flyin all rage and rushing blood,
picking you up and taking you away to anyplace I'd know you'd be safe,
no wait that's not what I meant to say,
I feel like a painter,
my body aches,
my canvas bleeding out all the moments we could make,
no that's not it,
I feel like a dog with panting tongue and wagging tail who just won't stay....still?
how can I explain what it means to feel this way?
Like a boy at Christmas or on his birthday?
I want to open the gift of your eyes?
Your smile?
Your thighs?
No too sophmoric, no too fat, no too general,
shyly a lioness approaches a gazel and asks politely if she could eat him and then still feels guilty afterwards,
your hair leads the way to a wailing of angels as they die,
this is why I want to consume your beauty, quite simply I am greedy for your curves,
any sense of these words?
or numb?
Any smile?
Please do, I love it,
please sigh or moan... or both.

Sometimes a lively joy or woe in the world,
Sometimes as hidden clue or show in the world.

Pretty embroidery in a film of yore,
Is presented as a lithe glow in the world.

The sprightly rehearsals and laughing did go,
But moving pictures did not go in the world.

The breezes at the dawn are spread around soft,
In the cool morning did they blow in the world.

Mâhî, again a small gazel was written,
Who is softly sharing a glow in the world.

Pictured those Gazel sight of you within my eyes of refraction..
You will be the Remedial Light, That makes me to see the World so Bright..
I even had to Think to Blink for a Moment, So that a Decade of mine could Fetch a Sight Back at You..
One Glance of those Eyes Would be Worthy enough than the Glimpse of a Moonshine..
God ! Must be Mesmerized with an Extravaganza, When he Wanted all of those to Create as You..
There's Magic in your Eyes, Causing myself to be a Vanishing illusion..
I Closed my eyes to find your Lost Presence, Brought back a Memory of yourself Over Again..

If Eyes could Express yourself So Beautiful,
I Would spend the rest of my life over an Imagination that makes my Dream that You are really been Made Off..

boyscout leftover p.s.: can i inform you over some missed conjunctions? pet-peeve... at least one...how else to other than end it all: ON... "cute" via... it's one of those moments when... you're listening to Portugal. the man... rebel for kicks... and you switch over to... blind lemon: no rain... and somehow i'm not quiet my age... and in my rucksack... there's no hitting on but there's the circus of language to at least be had... with a dozen clowns clammering into an italian expertise of the motor: gazel or... whatever a mustang is for... via the fiat 126p... because it's oh so funny... and i can't but like how this poem juxtaposes... ha! kevin and perry's: big fish little fish cardboard box... all seriousness "out of the window" if you will mind citing Wall St... but this is such a nice widow of spare time to allowed a comment... one can almost imagine fishing with big daddy W... who isn't even Welsh or a Walker... hell... i was really expecting Walter to crop up... but that's fishing for you...cuddling cod... as a fan of ***** in pictures... i can almost, certainly... understand the instant appeal... one has to desire a deaf-spot when it comes to... these subsequent operatics and arias... of the onomatopoeia... it sounds... it sounds like... sitting on a chair... or wiping one's mouth with a napkin... you can almost see... when a lay-d will require her day-d of... please! please! no sycophancy or those horrid ****** monologues! i'm out of steam on those swipes swipes swipes... i have yet to meet the Thane of Cawdor! to me Shakespeare begins and ends with Macbeth... as i ask: are you deserving of any overt-****-up words of "harking adverse" to any advice already given? ha ha... this is me attempting my best attempt at... peacoking and cuckoldry... and i can't help myself from the teenage girl giggling...  perhaps i too was a Mr W once... you really spoil him though... the "suspence" thriller! at best: in good humour... at worst: the remnants of humour...but as a delicacy for a... ahem... "goddess of poetry"... your *****-nilly slip-up for the awaited for... your highness... reply... ha ha... it would really require one to read some Charles Dickens before having the audacity to borrow some Shakespeare... and that's to mind not borrowing a ditto quote... oh the airs and the hot-air balloons of what england wishes it was had it not acquired the culinary customs of the hindu Raj... or some otherwise random worth of *******... otherwise thank you... it allowed me a giggling to feel like... a cherub massaging me... or what's reserved for some of us, when in the presence of children, one is to be left being mistaken for a donkey; subsequently being ridden on... imagine... a grown man having to shuffle on all fours for some pissy-pants napoleon shouting: fore! but i like all this "suspense" though... ahem... serious people deserve serious *** a propos mention contracts. the poem's great though... for some reason... i saw the bouquet before the words.

Matthew Conrad - you definitely sound a minor tweak off being a william burroughs': overlapping juxtaposition... then again i'm just your casual grey-area Joe and not having words bound to professional critique... because i would most certainly be happier being the next best "thing" in terms of plumbing... and leaving this area readied with grief for one of my offspring... but since that's not going to be: on the hollywood production line of "made into a reality"... for the common toastie and tea to boot... once upon a time one was somehow allowed to enterain the recycled dream oops: of my my, oh my deluded self, "self"... how else to other than end it all "cute" via: hope to hanging up those sort of dresses of yourself, which you will never wear.